Too Late
by Fatal Overdose
Summary: Billy makes Spencer angry, with disasterous results. Ectofeature, if you squint.


This was never supposed to happen.

He should still be at home, making some horror movie, or at the WiFri, hanging out with Billy, Rajeev and Shanilla, plotting revenge on Kleet, or trying frantically to figure out a solution to whatever mess Billy's carelessness had gotten them into this time.

But there was no way to fix it. Spencer Wright was gone for good.

Earlier that Friday...

"No means **_no_**, Billy!" Spencer slammed the front door, pulling one strap of his backpack over his shoulder and continuing on his way to school.

The ghost of Billy Joe Cobra flew effortlessly through the entrance. "Come on, broham, just one more time?" He begged.

"I'm not gonna throw another stupid party!" The boy was scowling now as he realized his friend wouldn't leave him alone until he did what the ghost wanted, which would inevitably lead to some kind of disaster.

"But why?" He'd resorted to whining now, staring at Spencer with large, pleading eyes. "_I'd_ throw a party if _you_ asked!"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Of course you would! You'd throw a party if anyone asked! You're..." he struggled to find the appropriate words, finally settling on "you."

"And being as awesome as I am, I deserve a party!"

Another eye roll. Spence smirked as he saw the obvious solution. Not quite to the gate, he took off the medallion that allowed him to see Billy and tucked it into his bag. Now deaf to the other's words, he began whistling happily. This was going to be a good day.

Unsurprisingly, he was wrong. Billy Joe Cobra didn't like many things, but above all else, the ex rock star

_**Hated. Being. Ignored.**_

He continued to torment Spencer throughout the morning, picking up random objects, stealing his homework, and on one occasion in the middle of the hallway, tripping the poor teenager, then tying Kleet's shoes together. The thickheaded jock had taken a step, fallen, then punched Spencer in the face.

Skipping his last few classes altogether, Spencer stormed to his locker for his backpack, then headed for the empty football field. Once there, he took the medallion out and once again put it around his throat.

Billy floated through the air on his back, lounging and looking proud of himself. "Ready for the party, broseph?"

That was the last straw. In a fit of anger, Spencer tore the thing from around his neck and threw it into the ground. "I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" he shouted, grinding it into the dirt with his heel. He angrily stomped off in the direction of his house.

Billy stared after him in shock. Did that really just happen? Hm... maybe the musical genius had gone too far this time in trying to get what he wanted. He grabbed the slightly squished medallion and flew after his friend.

It could be said that the angry teenager wasn't paying attention. This was definitely true, but all the same, the car came barelling out of nowhere, tires screeching against the black road.

There was no time for either Billy or Spencer to react. Spencer's head was thrown against the ground with an audible 'crack' as the car hit him and continued onwards, running over his outstretched legs as blood spread across the uneven surface of the pavement.

The driver kept going, completely oblivious and in far too much of a hurry to bother thinking about what that bump might have been. Probably just a dumb cat or something.

"No!" Billy shouted, increasing his speed. He dropped down to hover by his friend's side. "Come on, bromigo! You're ok, you're gonna be just fine!" At this point, he realized Spencer couldn't see or hear him. Ever so carefully, he laid his medallion on the boy's barely moving chest. "Spencer, come on, buddy!"

As delirious as he was, Spencer knew something bad was going on at this point, he just wasn't quite sure what. It was an unwritten rule that the deceased rock star _never_ called him by his name, a rule followed strictly and without exception. Maybe the bad thing had to do with how much everything hurt right then.

Billy looked at his younger relative in horror. He lay on his back. The sixteen year old's legs were beyond broken, they were _crushed._ His head had cracked open, and he was heavily concussed. And all the _blood_! There was no way anyone could survive something like that.

"Billy..." the boy said dully. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused from the head trauma. Billy could literally see him getting paler as his life slowly drained away.

"Shhhh. Don't talk." The ghost said gently, now sitting on the ground next to his dying friend.

"But I have to say... I'm _sorry_... we... we can have the party, if it... if it means that much to you..."

He choked up, eyes filling with glowing tears. He knew the poor kid wasn't going to survive for much longer, and the chances of him coming back as a ghost were slim to say the least. "Great, Spencer. We can invite Shanilla and Rajeev and the President of the United States, it'll be really awesome, you'll see."

"Sounds... like it... Hey... I'm also sor-sorry I got so mad earlier. Fo-forgive me?"

"Of course, always."

"I'm... gla-" he never got to finish his sentance. His head fell limply to the side, eyes still open and staring at nothing as both his breathing and his heartbeat ceased.

Spencer Wright died, and it didn't even have the decency to rain.


End file.
